One of His Miracles
by Froyo Jojo
Summary: This is a short ficlet of the grave visit scene. Oh, the feels! It's with a female John "Jojo" Watson, of an upcoming fiction by moi. I'll warn you, it's pretty sad, and short (just under a thousand words). I'll have the first chapter of the official story up once I'm done with my other story.


It was four months and two weeks and three days after the funeral before I visited his grave again. Mrs. Hudson asked me in the morning to please go with her, and it was something in her voice that made me go along. I'd randomly realized just as we were dressing to leave that I'd something to do; but she'd have none of that. My ear was pinched and I was pulled through the doorframe mercilessly. Even then, outside the apartment, I was troublesome. I'd caught a look at the numbers on the door of the flat and was reminded of first meeting the man. I politely and dignifiedly begged for her to not make me go.

"I have no business mussing up a perfectly good gravesite with my tears and my grudges and my sadness. I've no business," I'd said. All Mrs. Hudson did was open the cab door and say that's what graves are for, dearie.

The ride was silent. I stared out the window, trying to erase the feeling that I could turn to my left and see Sherlock again. As we neared the cemetery, I noted it was an odd place to imagine visiting Sherlock, and started to shake.

Mrs. Hudson gently guided me by a soft, warm hand to his shining marble marker. In order to keep myself from breathing hard, I told myself it wasn't the same Sherlock, it wasn't him, it's not Sherlock.

But all the reassurance in the world couldn't have halted the shaky, frail gasp that tumbled through my lips when we stopped before him.

Sherlock Holmes stared back at me. Cold and sharp and unmoving letters, meaningless to the man lying beneath them. I saw him lying under the dirt, whiter and cleaner than paper, frozen in an endless death in his motionless face that followed me everywhere. Under the grass, dirt, pebbles, and closed casket lay a man long dead. The thought of him falling apart like that made me want to excavate him and breathe life into him again.

It ate away at my heart to blink and see him. He was everywhere. I was never alone because he was always with me. I'd try to sleep, and I'd feel like Sherlock was still somewhere about in the flat, most likely about to disturb my sleep by barging in or breaking out his violin. I'd blink away the exhaustion and see him there across the empty table, finally sitting with me there for the first time.

Then, there, I saw all that was really left of that man.

"There's all this stuff, the science equipment. I left it all in boxes, I don't know what needs doing…" Mrs. Hudson brushed the bouquet's moisture from her fingers and wrung them as she spoke. "I thought I'd take it to a school. Would you?"

I couldn't go back to the flat, and I told her so. The thought of stepping into those rooms made my fingers icy. "I'm angry," I admitted to her.

"It's okay, Jojo. There's nothing unnatural in that. That's how he made everyone feel," she responded daintily. "All the marks on my table, and the noise, firing guns at half past one in the morning."

I felt the sensation of an unmade smile at recalling it all. "Yeah."

"Bloody specimens in my fridge!" she cried. "Imagine, keeping bodies where there's food! And the fighting, drove me up the wall with all his carryings on!"

"Yeah, listen, I'm not that angry, okay?" And in this way she bid her farewells and went back to the cab. "I'll catch a cab in a bit."

It was a few minutes before my voice finally welled out of my dry throat. "You told me once that you weren't a hero. At the time I backed it almost entirely." My voice broke. "But I have to say, you were totally wrong. There were times when I didn't even think you were a real human, but let me tell you this." I cleared my throat and tamped down the tears welling at my eyes. "You were the _best man_ and most human… human being I have ever known." I breathed deeply, causing a large tear to swipe down my cheek. "And no one will ever convince me you ever told me a lie." I wiped away the evidence and tried to look less pitiful. "You were a good man, Sherlock." I touched the smooth stone and knelt down. "Just one more thing, Sherlock, one more miracle, for me… One more. Please don't be… dead. One more miracle, Sherlock. Please, just for me? Just stop it. This… stop this. I can't take all this. It was so great, and I just started to really feel like we were… and then… you were snatched away, and it all ended. I just need one of those miracles you always seem to pull off, Sherlock."

In the end I spent far longer than I had planned there with him. For two or three hours, I was sitting next to him then lying next to him, talking to him about everything. I cried hard and wept. "I miss you, Sherlock," I sobbed, "I really just wish we could have been together forever. It never should have ended."

Eventually the tears stopped falling. I was a calm, sniffling, giggling, watery-eyed mess. I rolled on to my back and looked up at the sky. It was late afternoon. The sun was slanted across the sky slightly, causing the edges of the clouds to turn pink and orange. The blue sky still shone cleanly in contrast. It was very peaceful, and even more so beautiful. "I wish you had the chance to see this, Sherlock. I wish you'd had the chance to see all this with me."


End file.
